


Les Amis Marchant

by starsandamorphinetoast



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Band, Drums, F/M, First Kiss, M/M, Marching Band, Multi, Rivalry, Sexual Tension, percussion, percussion section
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 16:46:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7809679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandamorphinetoast/pseuds/starsandamorphinetoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire, percussion captain.  That in itself is worrisome.  The percussion section always has been and always will be a problem, but with a leader who seems so apathetic and spiteful, how is drum major Enjolras supposed to trust him?  Does Grantaire even care about the band?  Does he even care about the show?</p>
<p>In truth, the man is a lot more devoted than Enjolras could ever know, not only to the show, but to his drum major.  </p>
<p>Also, Gavroche may be small, but he wants to make a big noise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Les Amis Marchant

You first must ask yourself why leaders exist. Upon doing so, you may say to yourself “to maintain order!” and accept it as a universal truth. You would be right to a certain extent. That is the initial intention of a leader. Some would argue, as I do and as Enjolras does, that to have one leader is disorder to begin with. 

Yet, Enjolras always found himself in the role of a leader, despite his disdain for the concept. In classes, he was outspoken and became a role model for all. He was consistently left in charge of the class while teachers were away. He was head of the debate club, cross country, and above all, he was drum major in the marching band. 

How did he become drum major?

Well, he was the principal French horn player in the wind ensemble. French horn was one of the few instruments that no marching band marched. The reason is that the French horn points the opposite direction that the player is facing. Being that one of the points of marching band is to project the sound of all the instruments to a center point in a crowd, that would be a bit counterproductive. He didn’t like playing mellophone, though he did for his first two years in band. His junior year he made drum major, and they didn’t even hold auditions this year, his senior year, because there was no better leader than him. The universe likes irony. 

The only problem, for Enjolras that is, was Grantaire. 

Somehow, despite Grantaire’s apathy, he had become percussion captain in this, his senior year. That really was unfortunate, at least in the mind of the drum major, because a drum major must work very closely and diligently with his percussion captain. It was those two who kept time for the whole band, Enjolras visibly and Grantaire audibly. 

As has been previously stated, Grantaire was apathetic. He always was in wind ensemble, and had been for three previous years of marching band, and Enjolras had no doubt that his new title would change nothing. 

 

The first day of band camp was about introductions, bonding, and basics. While almost all of these primary characters are upperclassmen, many freshmen were joining the band this year. It would take a few days for everyone to get used to the function of each person in their individual roles and the function of the band as a whole. 

And the director...

Oh, that director. 

His name was feared even amongst non-band kids. He was regarded as the strictest teacher in the school. His rivalry with the kindly old principal was known. Primarily a trumpet player, disciplined and disciplinary, loud and aggressive, a retired police captain, Mr Javert.

It would take the freshmen all four years of their high school career to get used to him. 

 

Once everyone had arrived, they were silenced by that booming voice.

“Quiet down!” Javert shouted, although it was scarcely called such because it was as commonplace as a normal speaking voice. It was a wonder none of the new kids screamed at the sound of it. “Welcome to band camp. You will find that musical talent is not number one on my list of expectations. Vets? What is?”

“Discipline.” All the upperclassmen droned.

“What is?” He asked again, lower this time and eyes pointedly fixed on the freshmen.

The echoed hesitantly. “Discipline?” 

“That’s right.” He held his hands behind his back, standing straight and tall at the front of the auditorium where they all sat. “Let it be first on your lists too.” He then glanced around the room with a look of distaste. “I see that many of you have hair that is long and unruly. If it is not long enough to be put up into a tight bun on top of your head, see that you have it neatly trimmed by the end of this week.”

A poor unsuspecting freshman saxophone player raised her hand. Sadly, Javert saw before anyone had the chance to advise her to put it down. 

He grinned wolfishly. “Yes?” 

She cleared her throat and spoke softly. “Uh, how c-can we have our hair cut if we are here from 8am to 8pm every day this week?” 

Everyone held their breath, and some held their ears, expecting a shout. But it was the first day. For now, quiet intimidation was enough. He stooped slightly to look her in his wide eyes. “See that you have it neatly trimmed by the end of this week.” He repeated in what was very nearly a growl. 

All she could manage to do was nod. 

He stood again and paced the front of the room. “I will oversee most full rehearsals. Section practices and training days will be run by your captains, as I have no patience for it. Captains?”   
Courfeyrac and Jehan stood, promptly; Grantaire slowly made his way to the front, following behind them, eager as they must be to please. 

Javert walked behind them and then stopped beside Jehan. “Your woodwind captain,” He looked them up and down with contempt. “Who will change out of his skirt and into a pair of shorts or trousers by the next time I see him,” Jehan visibly deflated, but tried to maintain a smile. “Jean. All woodwinds are to report to him when we break.” He pointed him to one corner of the auditorium and Jehan hurried to go stand there. Javert continued. “Your brass captain, Courfeyrac,” He glanced at his neck. “Who is once again in desperate need of a trim.” He directed him to another corner. “Last, and possibly least...” He walked over to Grantaire, who was grinning up at him without an ounce of respect. “Hopefully making Grantaire the percussion captain won't be the biggest mistake of the season.” 

“Oh don’t worry sir. I’m sure you’ll find a way to make a bigger one.” Grantaire jibed. Everyone had to bite their lips to contain their giggles. 

Javert sneered and sent him to another corner. “Everyone go and get acquainted with your sections. Your drum major, Enjolras, will be through shortly to introduce himself. You will not see me again today. I’m leaving the first week almost entirely up to your group of student leaders.” 

Grantaire clapped slowly, leaned against the wall and looking at Javert with one eyebrow raised. Javert narrowed his eyes and stalked out of the room.

It was silent for a moment, then Courfeyrac spoke up. “Alright guys, go to your sections. All of you guys over to me. Let’s kick some brass!”

Combeferre chuckled at that and got up, everyone in the brass section following the senior over to Courf. Soon all the sections were grouped and sitting in circles on the floor. Enjolras had walked onto the dark stage from the stage door in the back, unnoticed, and stood listening in to their conversations. 

“So, my name is legally Jean, but I go by Jehan. I’m non-binary and my pronouns are they/them. If you guys have any questions about that or any other gender or sexuality expression, please feel free to come to me, and-”

“Obviously trumpets are the best instruments in the band, but everyone loves everyone here. Except Javert. If you ever need anything, come to me or one of the other captains. We’re all happy to help. Even Grantaire. Avoid Javert though, because-”

“Marching band is shit and Javert is an asshole.” Grantaire’s voice stood out to his ears more than either one of the others. “The people are kinda cool, but that’s the only good thing about band. If you think this year is annoying, don’t come back next year. It just gets worse. Enjolras, the drum major, is pretty okay, if a little too optimistic. Except when he’s-” He paused for dramatic effect and then spoke loudly, standing and flipping on the switch by the door, the stage lights coming on. “Spying on people!” Enjolras was stood in the middle of the stage, illuminated now by a spotlight. 

He shielded his eyes and then blinked to adjust, clearing his throat when he noticed that everyone had gone silent. “Good morning, band!” He called. “It’s good to see you’re all getting familiar with each other.” He stepped right off of the stage, landing gracefully at ground level. He walked to the door and glared at Grantaire as he flipped the stage lights back off before walking to the middle front of the room. “Let’s go over a few expectations that Mr Javert has for us this year. Discipline and respect.” At that, he cast another look at Grantaire. “They are the most important things in this ensemble. Javert says respect for leaders. I say respect for everyone. I will respect each and every one of you as much as I expect you to respect me, Javert, Jehan, Courfeyrac, and....Grantaire.”

There were some snickers from the percussion section, Grantaire laughing right along with them. But when wasn’t the percussion section laughing?

Enjolras continued without batting an eye. “This week is going to be about basics and getting to know each other. Throughout this season, we are going to learn and grow. This band will become your family. I hope you’re all excited for our show and to perform together. I am definitely excited to see what we can accomplish.” 

Some of the freshmen began to clap but he hushed them. “Applause is for after a performance. You should never applaud me for doing nothing.” 

The smallest freshman of the whole bunch, a percussionist by the name of Gavroche, who looked like he had skipped a couple grades, was watching Grantaire intently. He noticed how he stared at Enjolras, saw the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It had seemed at first that the two were unfriendly towards each other. Now it seemed he was more fond of him than he let on.

 

They split off into separate rooms for sectional meetings. Jehan and Courfeyrac both took their time, along with the help of the other upperclassmen, teaching their sections stances and the beginnings of technique. 

Grantaire hadn’t wasted a moment. He taught standby, attention, and all the basics of marching in quick succession. He walked around, adjusted each child, had them do each stance multiple times and randomly. It was learned. Regardless of his attitude towards band, he was very good at it.

Now, the percussion section sat in a huddle around him, Feuilly, and Eponine, the seniors of the percussion section, peppering them with questions. 

“Why is Javert so mean?”

“He used to be a cop.” Eponine answered.

“Is Jehan a boy or a girl?”

“Neither and both.” Feuilly said.

“Why do you stare at Enjolras like you do?” 

Grantaire paused, as did everyone else. “What’s your name again?” 

“Gavroche.” He replied. 

“Right,” Grantaire nodded. “You’re Eponine’s little brother. Very little. The smallest one here.” He smiled at him. “And what instrument do you aim to play?”

Puffing out his chest defiantly, he answered, “I want to march the bass drum.” Some of the other kids around snickered quietly at that and Eponine lowered her eyebrows at them.

Grantaire held up a hand towards him. “Give me a high five kid. You’re gonna do it. You just gotta be serious about it, okay? It’s not going to be easy.”

In Gavroche’s excitement, he seemed to forget all about the question he’d had about Enjolras. After a few moments, Grantaire had the idea that they go out to the field for some marching practice.   
“Didn’t Enjolras say we would all go out together later?” Feuilly asked with a lifted eyebrow, although he did stand. 

Grantaire laughed. “If he comes out and says something, everyone should just tell him in sync, that we’re percussion and we do whatever we want.”

Eponine stood and extended a hand to her brother, helping him up and pushing him towards the front of the line. If he was going to play the bass drum, it would take a lot of work. And she knew Grantaire wouldn’t let him unless he was sure he could do it. 

Just as everyone was about to head out the door, Grantaire stopped them. “Hang on.” He picked up a drum harness, which even without the drum was twenty pounds of metal and padding. “For our little drummer boy.” He put the harness on his shoulders and then positioned his body, pushing his chest back so he stood up perfectly straight. “Show me ‘attention!’”

Gavroche immediately got into position, feet at the proper angle, shoulders back, arms in front of him in a perfect triangle with fists clenched together, staring straight ahead.

“Good.” He nodded. “At ease.” And Gavroche relaxed. “Today, you will march wearing this harness. It’s a bit heavy on it’s own, but it’s nothing compared to the drum, okay? If you can’t go the whole day wearing this harness, you can’t dream of marching bass. Snare, maybe. But not bass.”

Gavroche nodded. “It’s a piece of cake. I’m not worried.” 

Grantaire smiled fondly and patted his back. “Good.” The pat caused Gavroche to stumble forward, but he quickly stood up straight again. Eponine furrowed her eyebrows in concern.

 

Meanwhile in the woodwind room, many questions were being asked.

“What color are our uniforms?” 

“Red and black.” Marius answered softly.

“Do we have a color guard?” 

There was a pause. “No.” Cosette said thoughtfully. “We never have.” She turned to Jehan. “Come to think of it, why don’t we have a color guard?” 

Jehan sighed and shook their head. “I’ve been asking Javert to let us have a color guard for years.”

“What does he have against flags?” Marius asked. “All the bands we compete with have guard, and they always score higher for visual effects.”

“It’s for the best.” Bossuet interjected. “If people were spinning flags on the field, I’d just get hit in the face.” 

Everyone laughed at that, and Musichetta pressed a kiss to his cheek fondly. Joly smiled and patted his back. Cosette chuckled at their poorly concealed relationship.

Then, the door swung open and Enjolras stood there, curls in disarray and looking perturbed. “Where are the percussionists?” 

“I saw them walk out to the field about a half hour ago.” Joly replied, biting his nail. “Were they not supposed to?”

Enjolras huffed. “No. We were going to eat and do scale practice before we went out.” It was clear that him and Grantaire would butt heads just as much this year as they had in the past, in band and in classes.


End file.
